changing seasons
by whizz
Summary: caleb/cornelia; it's a love story with a glitch.


**comic/cartoon; **W.I.T.C.H  
**pairing; **Caleb/Cornelia  
**warnings; **none, I guess. **  
disclaimer; **I do not own W.I.T.C.H or any of the characters used.

**i.**

Cornelia remembers being swept away; the irritating flow of water along her skin, the liquid thickness restricting her breath until she finally broke the paper-thin surface, pearly drops sliding across her smooth face, getting stuck in long lashes. _Finally, _she remembers thinking, _I can breathe again._

And then she saw his face.

All sleek, tanned skin decorated with mossy marks that spoke of the suffering of a whole nation, of the pride that came with the rebel path he'd chosen by thinking freely.

At this point, she recalls his every world - she can picture his face as he spoke, half-smile and glittering eyes, ruffled hair and that steady hand at the small of her back.

_Finally, _she remembers thinking, _I can breathe again._

Cornelia remembers losing her ever-responsible, reasonable and down-to-earth personality to something wilder, more adventurous; it wasn't really like her, letting impulses drag her along like that, but it was wonderful and she was truly happy, to the very last moment she spent in his refreshing presence.

"Love is stronger than magic", she remembers telling him, faces inches apart and his warm, safe arms encircling her lean form. Because, frankly, she'd give up her role as a Guardian, give up the connection to the other girls, give up the Oracle's predictments and give up her old, monochrome world in order for him to stay completely hers, in order for them to be together like this, a never-ending summer-scented daydream.

She realizes now that was the most childish about her, at the time. Such foolish beliefs and careless promises.

Still, she has to admit; watching his confident stride, hearing the intelligence oozing from his words that were always _just _right, listening to his carefree laughter, even in times of war, and caressing his sun-kissed skin in a world where the colors seemed much warmer, much closer than back home - it was a dream never supposed to end, a reality born from a wish poured into a drawing.

Cornelia remembers wanting to stay swept away.

**ii.**

Despite the carefully planned phone calls, the get-well-cards, the surprise visits and the heap of words that serve as a momentarily soothing of the wounds that rip open just as easily in the silence of their absence, Cornelia stays unmoving, face-first into her tear-streaked pillow, and she's not complaining.

All she wishes for is to be left alone - this is the room where she gingerly placed the drawing Elyon made for her into the desk drawer, second from the top. This is the room where she danced around, lost in a giddy cloud of lovely pink-shaded girliness days after their first meeting. This is the room where she tended to Caleb when he'd been weakened and turned into a tiny flower resembling crystal-like tear drops. This is the room where she tried to revive him, sacrificing the overwhelming power trapped inside of her body at the time - another proof of her love.

And now, it's the room where she'll mourn the loss of his affections. It's kind of ironic, but it's fitting nonetheless.

"Cornelia, I've cooked your favorite dish.." her mother coaxes from behind the closed door, the strained tone of her voice indicating that there's been a lot of work to take care of lately; surely she's much too busy to bother with her daughter's trivial love troubles. "I thought, maybe you'd want to go to the park.. it's such nice weather today, after all.."

Cornelia thinks that it's hard to believe that when the draperies are shielding her from the outer world, the lights are switched off and the deafening silence is all there is to be heard; it might as well be night. She says nothing.

That night, she dreams of a town covered in pastel-gloss and ivys the color of mint slithering along stone walls of buildings pressed too tightly together. She dreams of a marble-draped castle, the symbol of frightful and brighter times of timeless ages. She dreams of maroon curtains tied on either side of huge glass panes, ball rooms of impressive size, the servants hurried footsteps echoing in the hallway, and a pair of headstrong boots making their way up the stair case.

She dreams of a familiar face, with keen eyes and a smile that aches and twists in her chest. She dreams of a no less familiar face, sleep-mussed and knotted blonde hair in two messy braids on either side of round peach-cheeks. She dreams of a large, warm hand that she can describe the exact feel of covering a smaller, paler one, that she also has held on more than one occasion.

She dreams of bitter betrayal, and wakes up with a scream that embodies all of the submerged anguish inside of her.

Between never-ending tears and memories spinning at an alarming rate, Cornelia makes the vow of her life.

And what she promises herself, is change.

**iii.**

"You've changed, Corny", Irma muses beneath the glaring sun, drops of ice cream slipping down her fingers as she attempts to eat as much as possible all at once.

The blonde doesn't turn to meet the other girl's gaze, but she tilts her chin up thoughtfully.

"You think?"

"Well, before, you smiled more", Taranee cuts in from her other side, offering one of her own careful quirks of the lips.

"I smile now, too", Cornelia protests, flipping some sunshine-resembling hair behind one shoulder.

"Sure you do", Will agrees, twirling crimson hair around her finger. "We're just worried about you."

"Don't be", Cornelia pledges, "I'm great."

But she _has _changed - of course she's aware of that. She'd like to think of herself as even _more _sensible and contemplative than before, mature and adult-like, just as he wanted. At least it's not a hard role to play, even though it feels just a notch out of place.

But it's all right, she tells herself, keeping dismissing the boys coming at her as immature and silly. If her happy ending wasn't to be found, she just has to make her own one - after all, if it wasn't for her, her prince charming never would have left her in the first place.

Perhaps she just isn't fit for being a princess, then?

**iv.**

Another meeting is inevitable - a new mission is brought upon the guardians, and Cornelia can only reluctantly follow an order that causes her insides to twist and churn in a mix between anticipation and nervousness.

Will catches her eyes, trying to calm her with the loosening of her eyebrows, and it takes all the blonde girl has to smile back reassuringly. A second later, she feels two different hands against her own trembling palms, and a familiar pure energy intensifies in the space of the circle her friends are forming. Cornelia feels the soothing warmth vibrate throughout her body, and when she opens sea-green eyes that she didn't realize she had closed, it is easy to distinguish the mossy scent and long-time-no-see-colors splashed across the streets roaming with people.

"Meridian's sure not changed much, huh?" Irma drawls, one eyebrow shooting up. Hay Lin rolls her eyes, throws a guarded gaze in Cornelia's direction, before smiling playfully.

"Except for the fact that the atmosphere is much nicer", she adds.

"Well, that's because Mr. Psycho-brother-with-a-power-obsession is gone, though", Irma retorts.

"Guys, remember-"

Will doesn't get to finish her sentence, because the next moment, an all too-familiar voice resounds where they stand, in a corner of this world infected with far too many memories to count, good and bad; starting with the voice Cornelia'd recognize anywhere.

"So the rumor really is true!"

Cornelia can feel her heart stop completely, litterally hear the last, out-drawn beat as her whole world freezes. This is the moment she's been imagining at least a hundred times in her head, the worth of all the preparations she had to make, the wrongs that she looked for in herself, the change she promised would happen.

Her friends turn to greet him - she dares not think of his name yet - and she figures she oughta move. She forces herself to pretend the huge wound tearing her middle apart is invisible on the inside, too, before turning.

The catching of a breath. The recognition in eyes that feel like home. The _click _as the world begins to rotate again, colors flicked on with a frightening static.

It takes less than a second, and maybe it's all in her head; Cornelia can't look away.

Elyon is standing there, too, small arm wound around Caleb's, and the look on her face reads undeniable worry. Biting her lip, averting her eyes, and words that won't come out - Cornelia watches the scene with an unwavering gaze, the two people that meant - _mean - _the most to her in all of these goddamn cursed worlds that she has been entitled to protect standing joined, in a place she just can't reach anymore, despite her efforts.

"Cornelia, you've.. changed", Caleb comments, and there's awe in his voice, warmth in his eyes, and the very core of the globe pauses in its rotation.

She feels the last fluttering piece of her heart break and crumble to tiny pieces as she smiles a smile that she knows is fooling every single person watching.

"And you haven't at all, Caleb", she says with a perfectly steady voice, watching the relief in Elyon's gaze as she returns the smile.

Her dreams shattered, her hopes smashed, and her heart gone - the only thing she did succeed in was to put on a good enough act; they will never know.

The world releases its trembling breath, and the other girls turn to the two, bombarding them with questions and laughter that easily slips into the reminders of old times.

Cornelia laughs along, knowing she'll never love this way again, and promising herself to continue with it only until the night is over.

**v.**

**A/N; **aww, memories. W.I.T.C.H was totally a memorable part of my childhood, haha. and there's something about the Caleb/Cornelia pairing that i just love to dig deeper into. hope you like! this brought back so many memories.

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